


High Jinx

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is suffering from a run of bad luck which keeps getting worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Jinx

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by Fredbasset who wanted a fic about Treville taking care of Athos.

Treville looked down from the walkway in dismay. What in the name of God had happened now? Aramis and Porthos were trying and failing to hide their chuckles of laughter, whilst behind them, soaking wet and muddy up to the brim of his bedraggled hat, rode Athos.

D’Artagnan, in contrast to the other two rapscallions, was fussing over the older man as usual, but it wasn’t doing anything to lift Athos’ spirits. In fact it was clearly having the opposite effect if his words were anything to go by.

“Go away, d’Artagnan. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, but Athos,” said Aramis. “I’m sure you’d like nothing more than a nice hot bath at Mme Bonacieux’s boarding house."

“And afterwards d’Artagnan can tuck you into bed,” sniggered Porthos. “He’d like to look after you. Perhaps you can have both him and Constance tend to you.”

“I’m sure she’d be willing,” said d’Artagnan fervently and both Porthos and Aramis snorted with laughter. The boy was so wet behind the ears. 

Disinclined to become involved, but knowing that if he didn’t Athos would lose his grip on that reined in temper, Treville marched down the steps. “What’s happened here?” he said.

“Nothing of importance, sir,” said Athos with an air of general weariness. “Your orders were carried out as requested. The letters were delivered to the Duke by my own hand.”

“And the reason for your current dishevelled appearance?”

“He slipped on the ice, sir,” smirked Aramis.

“And fell in the moat.” Porthos snorted. “We got him out quickly enough, but the bank was awful muddy.”

Aramis grinned. “As you can see.”

Treville often found their double act more amusing than he should have done, but not today. Not when it was at the expense of a friend who was having a serious run of bad luck. “Athos, go home, get bathed and get your landlady to clean your uniform.”

“Yes, sir,” said Athos, dismounting and leading his horse to the livery without a single word to his companions.

“Porthos, Aramis, you’re on stable duty tonight,” said Treville with a faint smile of satisfaction at the looks on their faces. “Jacques is unwell and you two can cover for him. Dismissed.”

“And me, sir?” said d’Artagnan.

“You can do whatever you like seeing as you’re not a member of the King’s Musketeers.” Not yet anyway, thought Treville, but it wouldn’t be long with the kind of skills the boy possessed.

As he walked back up the stairs, he spared another thought for Athos and the albatross that was circling his head. In less than a week the man had fallen off his horse, been stabbed in the arm by a cuckolded husband who’d mistaken him for Aramis and now he’d slipped into a moat with apparently no assistance from anyone. Maybe tomorrow would bring about a change in his fortune.

\---

Tomorrow came and brought with it a fresh set of woes. Athos arrived at the garrison free of mud and as tidy as he ever presented, but with a hangover so monumental that Treville could feel the effects of it himself.

He was fuming mad. As captain, this put him in an impossible position. He felt sorry for his lieutenant and would have liked to ignore this incident, but the sight of him, red eyed and ashen faced, swaying from side to side and…

Athos turned to his left and heaved, almost covering Porthos’ boots with the contents of his stomach.

“Oi! Watch it!” said the big man.

Vomiting in the parade ground was unacceptable and Treville had no choice but to call the man in for a disciplinary.

“Upstairs,” he barked, and when Athos ignored him, looking dazed and bewildered, Treville grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “My office. Now!”

“Mon Dieu,” he heard Aramis say, not finding things quite so funny now that his brother was in serious trouble.

Once inside the office, with the door firmly shut, Treville steepled his fingers. “What am I to do, Athos? I should have you publicly flogged for this.”

“For what, sir?” said Athos, looking at him blankly.

“How much did you have to drink last night?”

Athos looked muddled. “A flagon of wine. I didn’t feel well enough for more,” he said and then he sneezed and promptly passed out.

Treville squatted next to the unconscious man and rested a hand on his forehead. He was burning up with fever. “You are impossible,” he muttered and Athos’ eyes opened. “Why didn’t you say you were sick?”

“You never asked, sir,” said Athos, groaning as he was hauled upwards to standing.

“Come on, lad,” said Treville. “Seeing as you made it all the way here in this state it would be cruel to send you home again. You can rest in my rooms.”

The chamber was small but furnished with a double bed, in case the incumbent commander had the duty of a wife to house. Treville was not married, nor would he ever be. He’d never brought anyone to this bed so it was strange to sit his lieutenant on the feather mattress then undress him to his smallclothes and help him under the blankets.

“I’ve caught a cold,” said Athos, sneezing again and looking up at Treville in distress.

“You have indeed, my boy,” replied Treville and it was such a surprise to see the most stoic of all men brought down by the sniffles that Treville couldn't help but smile. “I’ll get some broth sent up.”

On his way back from the surgery with a pocketful of remedies and tinctures, most of which were worthless compared to a dose of good cognac, he popped his head into the kitchens to ask them to send up some food to his rooms and was immediately waylaid by Aramis and Porthos.

“Sir. What is to become of Athos?” said Porthos. 

He was a gentle giant with a gentle soul, but Treville still felt that a lesson could be learned. “He has been negligent in his duties once too often. The King is well within his rights to have his commission rescinded and have him publicly flogged.” He glared at them. “I order you not to tell anyone of this.”

“But, sir, it was not Athos’ fault,” said Aramis. “I forced the brandy into him in order to warm him through after his dunking.”

Treville wasn’t certain whether he was pleased or displeased at Aramis’ eagerness to lie on behalf of his friend, but he’d always known that an alternate set of rules had to be applied to the Inseparables. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The cook was on his way out of the kitchens with some broth and bread. “Ah, my lunch,” Treville said taking the tray from him.

“Will you not be wanting the mutton, sir?” said Porthos in surprise.

The smell of roasting meat was delicious. “I shall no doubt manage a portion of both,” said Treville and then he headed up to his rooms.

Athos seemed small out of his uniform, restless and rambling, and Treville poured some water and helped him sit so he could drink from the cup.

“Thank you,” said Athos.

“Let me prop you up so you can take some of this broth.” Treville put the cup down and lifted Athos until he was resting against the pillows. Can you take a little of this?” he said, spooning some of the soup into Athos’ mouth. “There’s a good boy.”

He shouldn’t be babying one of his men this way, least of all his strong and unyielding lieutenant, but it was good to have someone to take care of and there was something about those huge turquoise eyes that played havoc with Treville’s senses.

He’d been so busy considering the man’s attributes that, without realising, he’d spoon fed him all the broth and the bowl was now empty. “Good, boy,” he said again.

Putting the empty bowl on the dresser he tipped two droplets of feverfew remedy into a glass of water. “This will help with your headache so drink it all up.”

Athos did as he was told then sneezed loudly and wiped his nose on a handkerchief.

“I’ll leave you to get some rest,” said Treville.

“Don’t go yet,” said Athos. “Sit with me until I’m asleep.”

Once again, Treville was under the spell of those eyes and perched on the edge of the bed, pressing a cold compress to Athos’ fevered brow.

“Have you ever been married?” asked Athos.

“I’ve not yet had that pleasure,” said Treville, blushing slightly.

Athos chuckled. “I was at one time. It was not a pleasure, believe me. When I was a boy I once imagined I was in love with a Greek statue. He was a better partner than my wife ever was.”

Treville listened to him ramble on incoherently, ashamed of the erotic thoughts that pushed to the forefront of his mind. When Athos finally fell asleep he trudged down the steps, amazed at how many hours had flown by whilst he’d been tending to the sick man. It was near dark and time to order the garrison gates closed.

He would not be sending Athos home tonight, especially now that snow had started to fall. He’d heard on the grapevine how cold and austere the man’s lodgings were and he’d already resigned himself to sleeping at his desk. It was something that he’d done on several occasions when he was too tired to make it the few steps to bed.

Taking a plate of food up to his quarters, he was once again waylaid by the terrible twosome.

“Where _is_ Athos, sir?” said Porthos. “No one has seen him since this morning.”

“In solitary confinement,” said Trevelle. “Reflecting on the error of his ways. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

“But where, precisely, has he been confined?” asked Aramis.

Both men looked worried to the point of fearful. What in Heaven’s name did they think he’d done with their friend, wondered Treville. If they’d seen Athos being spoon fed soup a few hours ago it would have put their minds at ease. “He’s fine,” he reassured them. “Now go home and get some rest. The King requires you for guard duty tomorrow.”

“And Athos?” suggested Porthos.

“Not Athos,” said Treville. His lieutenant was far too sick and would most likely require several more days of bedrest. “Go home,” he barked as he signalled to the guard house to shut up shop for the night.

The lamps now lit, Treville sat on the bed, reading to Athos from some of the few books that lined his shelves, most of them on the art of warfare.

“Do you have anything less torpid?” asked Athos. “I like the Iliad and the Odyssey. Patroclus and Achilles.” He smiled up at Treville and his eyelids drooped.

“No, I haven’t,” said Treville. “This isn’t a library. You’re tired and it’s late so it’s time for lights out.”

“Then come to bed,” said Athos as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Soldiers did bunk together in close conditions. Treville remembered it well from being a raw recruit. But sharing a bed on the battlefield was completely different to being tucked up under sheets and blankets, away from the rest of the world. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“Where else would you sleep but in your own bed?” said Athos. “I’ll try not to pass on my cold.”

Treville shrugged. It seemed the logical thing when stated so simply. Ablutions done he climbed nervously between the sheets, glad of the warmth of the covers and edging towards the heat that radiated off his bedfellow.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked. He should put out the lamps, but it was too much of a draw to have Athos in his bed and he wanted to be able to see him here and commit this to memory.

“I am, thank you,” said Athos and he shifted towards Treville until they were spooned together. “But I’m cold.”

Unable to resist, Treville slid his arm around Athos and felt a profound sense of joy as the man snuggled up against him. Joy then turned to shame as his body reacted instantly to the sensation of being this close. He tried to move away but Athos followed, drawing him onto his back and leaning over him.

“Do not be afraid of this,” he said, low and serious. 

Treville swelled to him, to the elegant tones of his voice and the angular planes of his body. His shoved at Athos until he was supine, nipped at his neck and throat then opened him up with deep kisses. He fumbled at the fastenings of his underclothes and palmed that thick cock which had been hidden from him until now.

“My boy,” he muttered, his mind in a whirl as his mouth moved across the expanse of skin, exploring, mapping, licking a path down the ridge of hipbone then sucking bruises into the soft junction where thigh joined torso.

Athos was thrashing in the bed, incoherent for a very different reason, and as Treville took him into his mouth he cried out and held him in place, using him for relief. 

Treville urged him on, aroused beyond all possibility, rubbing himself off against the sheets as Athos groaned once, twice then came hard into his mouth.

Frenzied again, Treville rolled him over onto his belly, all spent and languid from climax. Wetting him with spit he untied his own smallclothes and mounted him, telling him how good he was and how much he meant to him. Saying things that shouldn’t belong between them. Things that were wrong, but so perfectly right.

He came in a hot rush of desire, arching over Athos, curved against his back as he rode out the remains of his orgasm. Cock slipping free, he lay against him, face buried in the crook of his neck, happy beyond belief.

“If that doesn’t signify an end to my jinx I don’t know what will,” said Athos.

Remembering something from earlier Treville laughed as they twisted and turned to get comfortable, finally coming to rest, wet and messy, curled up together in the bed. “Achilles and Patroclus?”

“Not my most subtle moment, I grant you,” smiled Athos, “But, remember, I’m not at my best.”

“Au contraire, my boy.” Treville kissed him on the mouth. “This is the best I’ve ever seen you.”

“I _can_ be better.” Athos quirked an eyebrow. “Give me another day’s sick leave and I’ll prove it.”

“And how am I supposed to resist that?” said Treville. For all these years he had been afraid of wanting Athos and now he was only afraid of losing him to Aramis and Porthos, who would insist on stealing him away from his bed.

He’d tell the two men a glossed over version of the truth tomorrow, but for now he had a hardening cock and the best of all places to embed it. Stroking a finger down Athos’ spine he decorated his shoulders with red bites of ownership and, rolling over in delight, Athos smiled at him, tangled himself around him and took him inside in one fluid movement. 

Once again, Treville was lost to the thrall. Jinx or no jinx, this was certainly an end to his run of loneliness.


End file.
